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The work was mundane, calming. As he sorted through bundles of dried herbs, he broached the idea. "Been thinking, Pearson. How would you feel about cooking up a feast tonight? Something to really mark the occasion."
Pearson paused mid motion, holding a ladle. "A feast?"
"To celebrate," Caleb continued. "The house. The land. The new life everyone's starting here."
Pearson's face lit up instantly. "Well now," he said, grin spreading beneath his mustache. "That is a fantastic idea. Absolutely fantastic. A proper first meal in a proper home, yes, yes, that would do wonders for everyone spirit."
"Only problem is," Pearson added, rubbing the back of his neck, "I don't believe I've quite enough meat on hand for a full feast. Not unless we're serving very small portions."
Caleb chuckled softly, as he placed a bag of coffee beans on a shelf. "No need to worry about meat."
Pearson looked at him, curious.
"There's plenty of it out there," Caleb went on. "This is the Heartlands. Game's practically begging to be part of the celebration. A couple of deer, some rabbits, maybe a turkey or two. Charles or any of the boys could have it sorted in a few hours."
Pearson's expression shifted from dismay to calculation. "True, true… The game here is said to be fine. But I need more than just hunters. I need good hunters. I love the boy, but Sean will spook every creature from here to Valentine. Bill… well, Bill's better at shooting things that shoot back. I'd trust Charles. Or John, when he's focused. Arthur, of course. Or even Miss Adler, she's got a keen eye."
He looked at Caleb appraisingly. "You're a fair hand on hunting yourself Caleb, from what you've brought back."
Caleb finished arranging a set of mixing bowls. "I was thinking I'd contribute something different. The Dakota River's not far. I could bring back some fish. Variety for your masterpiece. We could have John and Charles handle the hunting. They work well together, and it'll keep John out of Abigail's hair while she's settling in."
Pearson laughed, a full bellied sound that echoed in the kitchen. "Fish! Now you're speaking my language! A nice brace of trout or salmon… pan fried with a little oil and dill… Oh, that's the stuff. Alright, Caleb, you have yourself a deal. You go catch us the swimmers, and I'll put the fear of God into the boys to bring me the runners and the flyers. Just make sure they're fresh! I won't have gamey venison or limp fish at my first feast in this home!"
"You have my word," Caleb said, grinning. He left Pearson muttering excitedly about menus and sauce and headed back out to the porch.
The organized chaos had begun to crystallize into order. Furniture was being placed inside. He spotted Charles near the corral, running a hand along a fence post, testing its stability with a series of firm pushes. The man noticed everything.
"Charles!" Caleb called, walking over.
Charles turned, his expression as ever calm and observant. "Caleb."
"We're putting together a feast for tonight. Pearson's in command of the kitchen, but he needs provisions. I'm heading to the river to fish. We need you and John to go hunting. Deer, rabbit, turkey, whatever you can find that's fresh and plentiful."
Before Charles could respond, the front door opened and John Marston emerged, followed by Abigail and Jack.
John was trying to look annoyed but failing as Abigail issued a stream of instructions about fetching a specific trunk from the wagon, but there was no real heat in it. Jack clutched a carved wooden horse, his eyes wide as he took in the vastness of his new yard.
"John," Caleb called. "A word with you and Charles."
John glanced at Abigail, who gave a curt, "Go on, then. But remember, the trunk with the blue trim!"
She took Jack's hand and led him toward the barn, pointing out potential spots for a chicken coop.
John walked over, tipping his hat back. "What's the matter?"
"No matter," Caleb said. "A mission, if you choose to accept it. You and Charles are on hunting duty. Feast tonight. Pearson's orders."
John's tense shoulders relaxed, and he let out a short laugh. "Christ, Caleb, you had me worried. Thought you were gonna hand me another damn cellar key." The joke fell flat, the recent memory too raw. He cleared his throat. "Hunting. Yeah, I can do that. Beats unpackin' china." He looked at Charles. "You mind the company, Charles?"
"Quiet company is good company for hunting," Charles replied, a faint hint of a smile on his lips. "I saw a herd of whitetail browsing in the valley to the north on our way in. We can start there."
"Perfect," Caleb said. "I'll see you both back here by late afternoon. Good hunting."
As the two men headed for the barn to get their rifles and horses, Caleb felt a surge of satisfaction. It was all so… normal. Domestic. The logistics of a family dinner. He fetched his own gear from Morgan, a sturdy fishing rod he have, a creel, and a small tackle box, and mounted up.
He took a slow route west, skirting the edges of the property. He saw Miss Grimshaw directing Bill and Javier in the placement of a heavy dining table through the open window.
He heard Molly O'Shea laughing at something Uncle said, the sound surprisingly genuine. He saw Hosea and Arthur on the porch now, Hosea talking softly,
Arthur listening while whittling a piece of wood, the physical act seeming to soothe him. The key was still in his pocket, but for a moment, he wasn't thinking about it.
The ride to the Dakota River was short and peaceful. He found a quiet spot where the water ran clear and deep over a gravel bed, shaded by a leaning cottonwood tree.
The rhythmic, meditative act of casting a line was a balm. The world narrowed to the flow of the water, the dance of the fly, the tension of the line. It was a skill he'd cultivated in his former life, and it served him well here.
One by one, fat, speckled trout took the bait. He worked with efficient grace, landing them, stunning them with a quick, merciful blow, and laying them in the cool grass.
As he fished, his mind, freed from immediate camp concerns, drifted to the future. The homestead was secure. Dutch was contained. But containment was not a solution.
Hosea and Arthur had been led to the brink of the unthinkable, but they would never cross it themselves. The abdication Arthur had voiced, "I won't stop someone else", was the crucial concession. It was a moral fig leaf, but it was enough.
The act itself would require meticulous care. It couldn't look like murder. It couldn't even look suspicious.
An accident? Illness? The chloral hydrate provided a possibility. An overdose, a tragic consequence of trying to calm his violent fits.
Swanson would be wracked with guilt, but his newfound sobriety and the gang's support would see him through.
Or perhaps a sudden, fatal seizure, a bursting of the blood vessel in a brain strained by madness and rage. Something quiet. Something that would allow them to bury a tragic, broken leader, not a murdered tyrant.
He felt doesn't feel deep personal hate but there's hat alright toward Dutch. The man was a casualty of his own decaying dream. He was an active threat, a spark in a powder keg of newfound peace. Removing him was a necessity, the final, loving pruning of a diseased branch to save the tree.
His creel was full, the fish glistening and fresh. He cleaned them there by the riverbank, washing the fillets in the cold water, his hands moving with practiced skill. The sun was beginning its slow descent, painting the sky in warm afternoon gold. It was time to return.
Back at the homestead, the atmosphere had transformed from chaotic arrival to busy settlement. As Caleb rode into the yard, he saw John and Charles had already returned.
Two plump whitetail deer were hung from a sturdy tree branch near the barn, being skillfully field dressed by Charles. A string of rabbits and three large turkeys lay on a clean canvas nearby. John was regaling a listening Sean and Karen with an embellished tale of the hunt.
"See? We got some bountiful games," John said, spotting Caleb and pointing at the bounty with pride.
"And I see you've got some good fishes from the waters," Charles added, nodding at the full creel.
Pearson bustled out, his face alight. "Now that is what I call a proper haul! Bring the fish here, Caleb, let's have a look! Oh, beautiful, just beautiful! Right, you lot, stop gawping! John, help Charles finish with those deer. Sean, you're on turkey plucking duty. Karen, be a dear and fetch me the big black pot from the kitchen. We've got a feast to build!"
The next few hours were a whirlwind of delicious smelling activity. Pearson was a general orchestrating a symphony of food.
The kitchen became a warm, steamy haven of sizzling pans, chopping knives, and Pearson's booming voice issuing orders and culinary wisdom.
Caleb found himself relegated to potato peeling duty alongside a surprisingly adept Tilly, while Miss Grimshaw oversaw the setting of the long dining table with the gang's mismatched but cherished tableware.
As dusk settled, lanterns were hung on the porch and in the trees. The massive table groaned under the weight of Caleb and Pearson's masterpiece, venison steaks in a rich gravy, a rabbit stew fragrant with herbs, roasted turkey, crispy pan fried trout with lemon, mountains of buttery mashed potatoes, baked beans, fresh bread, and a berry cobbler made from preserves they'd carried from Lemoyne.
The entire gang were all here. No empty chairs. Sean was alive, laughing. Lenny was pouring beer. Molly was seated next to Susan, neither woman looking tense.
Jack had a place of honor at the center of the table, bouncing with excitement. Abigail sat beside John, her hand resting on his arm. Mary-Beth saved a seat for Caleb, her eyes shining.
Hosea stood at the head of the table. He didn't need to shout for silence; it fell naturally.
"My friends," he began, his voice soft but carrying. "My family. For years, we have lived by a code. For years, we have fought, and run, and dreamed of a place just like this."
He looked around at the faces, firelight and lantern glow dancing in their eyes. "Today, we are not outlaws hiding in the woods. Today, we are ranchers, farmers, homemakers. We are a family. This…" he gestured to the table, the house, the land, "…is the promise. Of a quiet morning, a hard day's work, and a meal shared with those you love. Let us give thanks for this peace."
"And let us remember…" he paused, the shadow passing briefly, "…that it was earned. By our resilience. By our loyalty to each other. And by the efforts of those who never stopped working for this future."
His eyes met Caleb's, and then Arthur's. Arthur, seated beside Caleb, gave a nearly imperceptible nod, his hand touching the pocket where the key lay.
"Now," Hosea said, his smile returning, "let's eat before Pearson throws a fit!"
The feast was a roaring, joyous success. The food was devoured, stories were told, toasts were made to the new home, to the death of Milton, and to new life. For a few golden hours, the cellar, and its occupant, were forgotten by all but three men at the table.
Later, as the party began to wind down and people drifted off to explore their new rooms or smoke on the porch, Caleb felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Arthur.
"Walk with me," Arthur said, his voice low.
They walked away from the light and noise, out past the corral, to the edge of the property where the land dipped toward a small creek. The only sounds were the crickets and the distant hoot of an owl. Arthur stopped, took out the cellar key, and held it in his open palm, staring at it as if it were a poisonous insect.
...
Name: Caleb Thorne
Age: 23
Body Attributes:
- Strength: 8/10
- Agility: 8/10
- Perception: 9/10
- Stamina: 8/10
- Charm: 8/10
- Luck: 9/10
Skills:
- Handgun (Lvl MAX)
- Rifle (Lvl MAX)
- Firearms Knowledge (Lvl MAX)
- Past Life Memory (Lvl MAX)
- Knife (Lvl MAX)
- Blunt Weapon (Lvl 2)
- Sneaking (Lvl MAX)
- Horse Mastery (Lvl MAX)
- Poker (Lvl MAX)
- Hand to Hand Combat (Lvl MAX)
- Eagle Eye (Lvl 2)
- Dead Eye (Lvl 4)
- Bow (Lvl 3)
- Pain Nullifier (Lvl 4)
- Physical Regeneration (Lvl 3)
- Crafting (Lvl MAX)
- Persuasion (Lvl MAX)
- Mental Fortitude (Lvl MAX)
- Cooking (Lvl MAX)
- Teaching (Lvl 3)
- Trilingual Language Proficiency - G, I, & C (Lvl MAX)
- Inventory System (Permanent - 10x10x10)
- Acting (Lvl MAX)
- Alcohol Resistance (Lvl MAX)
- Treasure Hunter (Lvl MAX)
- Drugs Resistance (Lvl MAX)
- Business (Lvl 1)
- Leadership (Lvl 1)
Money: 3,415 dollars and 60 cents
Inventory: 250,392 dollars and 61 cents, 11 gold nuggets, 65 gold bars, 1 Double Action, 1 Schofield, 2 Colm's Schofields, land deed (Parcel), 1 Mauser, 1 Semi Auto Pistol, 1 Lancaster Repeater, 1 Old Wood Jewelry Box, 1 F.F Mausoleum small brass key, 1 Ruby, 1 Braithwaites Land Deed, 1 Broken Pirate Sword, 1 Milton's Safety Deposit Key, 1 Senator Pendleton Sealed Envelope, & Proof Of Marlin-Thorne Firearms Co.
Bank: -